People Are Strange
by Oldach's Dream
Summary: A Wee!chesters story. Seven year old Sam Winchester just wants the doctor to go help his brother. It’s Dean that stopped breathing, not him. But when the good doctor won’t comply, Sam has to take measures into his own hands.
1. Chapter 1

By: Oldach's Dream

Disclaimer: Sam and Dean are on my wish list, right above my two front teeth and right below peace for all mankind. Too bad I've had my front teeth for years now; and did anyone ever see that episode of the X-files when Mulder wished for world peace? Somehow, I don't think getting Sam and Dean is gonna work either.

A/N: – First off, to anyone reading Mad World, I just wanted to say that _yes_, that's very much still in production, I've just been having a few computer glitches that should be sorted out soon. I've got no time frame for ya, but I do have the next chapter all ready written. So don't lose faith.

A/N 2: This is a little kid fic, if you missed that. I don't know, this newest episode of the show (The Usual Suspects) just kinda gave us a new look at Sam's character. And the non-brooding, non-emo, angst-free version of Sam was one I enjoyed very much. So I guess I started thinking… What was Sam like as a kid? It couldn't have all been fighting with John – especially when he was younger. So here's my little look at that.

Enjoy!

People Are Strange

"I need some help!" Sam shouted – sorta, it was more like a loud gasp. He just needed someone to pay attention. Someone, anyone…

"Son, son!" A man was yelling at him, the young Winchester realized, and with a sting of almost unrecognizable relief, he knew somebody had heard him. Had paid

attention. "Who are you, kid? What's going on?"

"My…my brother," he grasped at his side, distantly annoyed that the pain was distracting him so much. "My brother got really bad…he got hurt really bad. I need help. I need, someone…"

Whoever was speaking to him was too far away from Sam for him to see them clearly. Far away, yet there were hands on his shoulders. Hands that felt almost familiar. Almost comforting.

_Almost._

"Dad," he spoke the word as a myriad of things. The person helping him, the stranger, most have picked up on at least one or two of them.

"Where's your father?" It was a male voice, speaking these almost incomprehensible words urgently. "Where's your brother?"

"At the motel." He answered, searching rapidly through his own hazy memories for more helpful information. "It was by…railroad tracks, they were really load last night. We couldn't sleep."

"Okay," the voice seemed a little less frantic, and Sam thought maybe he'd seen the man gesture to other strangers that were also around them. Only they were gone now, and Sam was pretty sure it was just him and the original stranger.

"Okay," he said again, only it was more soothing. "Everything's gonna be okay."

"But Dean," Sam protested, knowing his brother was far from okay. His situation currently at a level rarely reached, even by the Winchesters.

_Dire._

His dad had said it.

"_This is a dire situation, Sammy. Go get help." _And when Sam hadn't moved, too terrified of leaving Dean and accidentally missing the last breath his brother might ever take - because that was his greatest fear, and he could never remember being so terrified in his whole life - John had resorted to his old fallback. _"Now, Sam!" He ordered._

So Sam had run. His seven-year-old legs carrying him as fast as humanly possible to the one place where he knew people _had _to help you when you asked for it. He was with the stranger now, needing more reassurance than what was currently being offered to him.

"Your brother?" The man asked, gently leading the boy into another room, away from the distracting noises that had previously been surrounding them.

"Yeah," Sam responded. "He got hurt. He got really bad hurt, and dad thought it was okay. Okay enough to go home, but it wasn't, 'cause he stopped breathing and dad almost crashed the Impala, and he loves the Impala. Only Dean loves it more, 'cause it's gonna be his when he turns eighteen, but that's not for a long time, so I think dad still might love it more now. But he almost crashed it when I said Dean stopped breathing."

"Your dad was driving when your brother stopped breathing?" The stranger – the doctor, Sam amended as the man lifted him up easily, placing him on an exam table – inquired, sounding calm.

His unconcerned nature did nothing to soothe Sam's panic. He just nodded fervently. "We shoulda gone to the hospital, dad said, but we were closer to the motel, so we went there. Dad did CPR in the parking lot and made Dean breathe again, but he made me come here. He said it was bad, really bad. We've never faced really bad before, he said. Except the fire that killed our mommy, but I was only a baby, so I don't even 'member that. And there was one time a year ago that daddy and Dean said they were really scared and it was really bad that my 'pendix burst, but I don't 'member that either, 'cept a really bad tummy ache. I don't like really bad."

"I can imagine," the doctor stranger sympathized, and Sam was sure he would have explained more to the man, had the pain in his side not become more apparent as it got poked and prodded. "Does that hurt?"

"Yeah," Sam's bottom lip quivered, but he clenched it between his teeth, remembering Dean doing the same thing every time he got injured on a hunt. No one had ever told him right out, but through watching the two older men in his life; Sammy had learned never to cry – at least not in front of other people. Especially strangers.

"I think you cracked a couple ribs, kiddo." Which just made his bottom lip tremble even harder. Not because of the knowledge of the injury, but because only Dean – and sometimes daddy – ever called him kiddo. He didn't like it coming from this man, it felt like he was trying to replace the two most important people in his life. And the seven-year-old decided right then and there that he hated this stranger.

"No I didn't," he insisted stubbornly. Because people he didn't like obviously wouldn't tell him the truth. "I'm fine. It's Dean that's hurt. Go help Dean." The doctor man didn't move. "Go help Dean!"

"Listen, son,"

"Go help Dean!" He screeched. Not liking _son _much more than _kiddo._ Not from him.

"Someone's on their way to the motel right now, okay?"

"No!" The stranger made the mistake of phrasing the placating statement as a question. It left a lot of room for rebellion. Which Sam was all too happy to provide. "No! I want you to go help Dean! Go help my brother, or my dad's gonna beat you up! He could so kick your _ass_! Dean said he could beat anyone up, 'cause he's strong and he used to be a Marine!" This man looked younger than his father, even. He had the same color hair, but a much smaller body. Less tall and with less muscle. His dad could so totally take him on.

"Son-"

"Don't say that!" He shouted as loud as he could. Maybe if his dad was - by some miracle - here, and heard him yelling, he would come to him, find him in the large maze of hallways and white walls and too many people and tell him everything would be okay.

"Fine," the stranger sounded mildly annoyed, and Sam was perversely glad of that. He liked making people annoyed. Except Dean, it was only fun to make Dean annoyed sometimes, 'cause most of the time it was more fun to watch Dean make other people really annoyed. He wasn't doing it for fun now, of course, but he was still glad he could do it, just incase he needed to.

"Then what's your name?"

Sam knew it was against the Winchester rules to give out his name to a stranger, to talk to a stranger, actually. But dad had already painted this scene as _dire-_a new and immediately hated word in his small vocabulary - and had _told_ his youngest son to run the hospital and talk to a stranger, so he figured the normal rules must not apply in this sort of situation.

Plus, even breaking dad's rules and having the older man get mad at him later seemed more appealing at the moment than having this strange doctor continually calling him things like _son_ and _kiddo._

"Sam." He said.

"Sam what?" The doctor pressed, placing something round, which was connected to a cord that stemmed off to both his ears, over Sam's heart. "What's your last name?"

The boy, however, just shook his head back and forth stubbornly. His first name was one thing, but it was really, _really_ against the rules to give out his last name.

"Dean says I'm not supposed to tell that to strangers, in case they're bad people." His anger was mostly gone for the moment, but he wouldn't be surprised if it came back – 'cause it did that sometimes.

The stranger sighed, lowering the heart-listening thing and looking Sam straight in the eyes. The man had bright, bright blue eyes, Sam noticed. "But, Sam," he could tell by the voice that he going to try to reason with him. "I'm a doctor. I'm a good person. I want to help you."

"Dean said anyone could be a bad person." Sam informed him, not budging on this decision. "Even doctors. Even police officers or priests or teachers or the guy delivering the pizza. They can all be bad people." He ticked off a few of the examples his big brother constantly listed for him, ready to provide more easily.

"Well," the doctor sighed. "Your brother's right. But Sam, _I'm_ not a bad person."

Sam paused, "But Dean said all bad people would say that."

The doctor sighed again, only this time Sam was less glad, because he really hadn't been _trying_ to annoy the doctor. He just refused to say his last name. For all he knew anyway their last name could be not their last name in this city. It could be one of their fake-real names that Dean had told him about, that they had to use sometimes.

"Okay, Sam." The man finally accepted the stubbornness that was a Winchester. "Don't tell me your last name. _My_ name, though, is Doctor Harold. But you can call me Dave, because that's my first name."

"Okay, Dave." Sam decided that was all right after a couple of seconds. Then reality caught up with him again, and he had to ask. "Dave?" The doctor looked at him. "Where's my brother?"

"He's fine," Dave answered distractedly, now rummaging around in a drawer to Sam's right, looking for something. "He's probably somewhere in the hospital right now, getting all better."

"Dean says that _fine_ is what people say when they really mean something else." Sam told the man, wondering why his seemingly adult-natured personality didn't know that already. "So whaddya you really mean?"

Dave sighed _again,_ and Sam wondered why. This time he wasn't even being annoying _or_ stubborn, he was just telling the truth.

"Can you be quiet for a couple seconds, Sammy?" And therein laid his biggest mistake.

"Don't call me Sammy!" He screamed. He _hated _Sammy, from anyone other than his family. Teachers weren't allowed to call him Sammy, and doctors that lied to him _most certainly_ could not call him Sammy. "I want to know where Dean is! Now! Where's my brother?"

When Dave faced him again, he was holding a needle, his thumb poised at the protruding end, Sam knew all too well what that needle was meant for. "He's going to be fine, Sam. Now I need to give you a shot, to help with your ribs. When you wake up, you'll be able to see your brother, okay?"

He took a step closer to the boy, and for a moment, Sam considered it. Because regardless of what he yelled at Dr. Dave, his side – his ribs, he supposed, technically – really did hurt from where the mean ghost had gotten to him and thrown him into the side of the Impala. It was the door handle, actually, that had delivered the sharp blow to his bony side on impact. And the thought of falling asleep really did seem unusually appealing, especially with the promise of being able to see his brother when he woke. It seemed like an easy decision.

But the easy way out is almost always the wrong way, dad said, so when Dave came at him with the dripping needle and the cotton swab, aiming for the boy's upper arm, he acted on his seven-year-old instincts. His teeth sunk into Dr. Dave's hand as soon as it got close enough for Sam to reach.

He bit down with all his might, playing his advantage. Dave hadn't seen it coming and Dean told him that a sneak attack was always the best way to go. When he wrenched his hand away, Sam's jaw wasn't quite ready to unclench, so he went with the arm, stumbling off the exam table in the process, only separating from the doctor when he hit the floor.

He tasted something odd in his mouth – odder than skin – and only identified it when he looked up at Dr. Dave and saw that the man's hand was bleeding quite a bit.

Then there was this timeless moment, with Sam crouched on the floor, and Dave backed up against the wall, cradling his bitten hand in his not bitten hand, the needle and cotton swab discarded to the floor, forgotten in this moment; as the two had a stare-off. Like Sam and his dad sometimes did when Sam wanted to stay up an extra hour or so to finish watching a movie with Dean at night.

Only in this battle, there was no Dean to play mediator, to promise to put Sam to bed as soon as the movie was over, and to make sure he got up on time the next morning, even if he was tired. Which he always was, but would never admit.

No, in this tiny hospital room, there was only Sam and Dr. Dave. And Dr. Dave hesitated just a fraction of a second too long. And Sam – despite his injury and the pain it was causing him – bolted up, off the floor and, with a speed that would have impressed Dean, he ran out of the exam room into the wide-open hallway of the hospital.

He stood stock still in the center of it for a moment; amazed and overwhelmed at how large it was, how many directions he could choose from. Without Dean or his daddy there to take his hand and make sure he choose the right one, he was caught off-guard.

"Hey!" He heard Dave yell at him, made out his thundering footsteps behind him easily. "Stop!"

That was all the incentive Sam needed to take off running again. He darted in-between grown-up's legs, around carts being wheeled down the hallway, taking extra caution not to collide with the chairs or couches that seemed strewn about all around him annoyingly. He couldn't crash into anything. That would stop him and get him captured – make him go far away from Dean.

"Stop that kid!" He heard Dave shout again, only he was apparently talking to another doctor, because an older, white coat clad black man who had been standing in his immediate path, talking to a taller, even older guy wearing a heavy looking, bright yellow jacket, suddenly turned around and, after a brief moment of contemplation, began to run towards Sam.

Sam thought for a second that he was trapped, that these doctors were going to win and take him away from his family, panic threatened to override his senses, and bright dots started to dance in his immediate line of vision; but then he saw an opening.

He took a sharp left, darting a couple paces, dodging the grown men and barely managing to squeeze through the elevator doors before they closed. He just managed to make out Dr. Dave's crestfallen, and slightly astonished, face before metal hit metal and he was looking at himself.

Distracted from his triumph over the evil doctors, he studied his own reflection in the makeshift mirror the elevator doors provided. There was a cluster of tiny cuts on one side of his forehead, from where he hit the gravel in the parking lot after he collided with the Impala, none bleeding, but all bright red. In fact, that entire side of his face was bright red, and it still looked as if some of the tiny rocks were imbedded in his skin.

His jeans had a hole in one of the knees, but not a real bad one; one that Dean could sew up so Sam would still be able to wear them to school for a while yet. His T-shirt was dirty, but not torn or anything, which made Sam happy, 'cause this was the Def Leopard shirt that Dean had stolen for him at a mall in the last bigger city they'd stayed near. Where the alarm had gone off and they'd run the wrong way and ended up in the food court and had to hide in a bathroom for almost an hour before Dean declared it safe to sneak out.

"You look like crap, kid." There was a solitary figure standing behind him in the elevator, and when _this_ younger man called him _kid_ he didn't find it at all anger provoking. Because this guy was younger than Dr. Dave, and _way _younger than his father, he was probably still a teenager, although Sam couldn't be sure. He had dark blonde hair that fell in his eyes and when he spoke, it was with an unusual rasp at first.

Sam didn't turn to face him, but could see him clearly in the metal of the elevator doors. He had several layers of black clothing on and was leaning against the wall nonchalantly. His voice made Sam freeze.

"What?" He spoke, and looked oddly at the youngest Winchester after a moment or two of silence. "You do."

"I fell." Sam decided not talking was a scarier notion than revealing too much information to this guy. He wasn't exactly _scared_ of this stranger, although his shadowed eyes did make him a little unsettling, it was more like he just couldn't place his finger on _who _he was.

He wasn't the typical adult, the one Sam knew from years of his father's lectures and his brother's reminders that he was supposed to lie to; or at least not tell the truth to - or at the _very_ least, not the whole truth. Yet he also wasn't someone he was supposed to trust, like Pastor Jim and Caleb and Bobby. He wasn't someone he knew he should probably trust, but couldn't completely trust until Dean and/or dad had checked them out. Like the teachers at his new school, or his new neighbors; and he defiantly wasn't someone the Winchester's were trying to help –an innocent, someone that needed protecting.

He was kinda…just a scrawny teenager in the back of an elevator that Sam wasn't even supposed to be on, who smelled sorta funny. But Sam thought vaguely too that that the smell might be coming from him, not this new breed of stranger.

"Sure ya did, sport." This stranger chuckled oddly, like he didn't really mean it, yet he wanted to.

"Why does everyone gotta call me names like that?" He wondered out loud, distracted from the new man's mysterious nature. "Why can't people just call be by my name?"

He seemed to consider it momentarily and Sam was relatively shocked when he got a real answer, not just a _Buzz off, ya bother me_. "'Cause you're a kid," he lifted his head and some of those long bangs fell away, revealing greenish eyes that reminded him comfortingly of his brother's. "And people don't like to treat kids like they're real people. Actually, most people don't like to treat other _people_ like they're real people. We all live in our self-absorbed little worlds, only concerned about the things that affect us. We're trapped in bubbles, kid. Little bubbles that are slowly yet absolutely sucking the life outta us. We, as a society, have to find a way to escape, before the spread of technology and human isolation by way of personalized worlds permanently hinders our ability to think for ourselves."

Sam just looked at him, tilting his head to the side and squinted slightly, as if that would bring this guy's jumbled words into focus. And while the boy didn't understand almost any of what this tall stranger had said, he didn't find the way in which he said it particularly frightening, so he decided to confide in him. "My name's Sam." After a beat, "I'm looking for my brother. He got hurt but he should be here by now."

"Oh yeah?" The stranger seemed only mildly concerned with Sam's distress, but that was enough for him.

He nodded, "I wanna find him now, but the doctors wanna give me a shot and make me go to sleep."

The tall guy nodded understandingly and pushed himself off the wall of the elevator, shoving his pale hands deep into his pockets, half smiling at him. "Okay, Sam. I think I can help you out. But you kinda gotta trust me, can you do that?"

Sam considered it.

He'd never had to decide someone's trustworthiness before. That task was always left up to either his father or his brother. His father would tell him when to be cautious, he was only allowed to talk to someone he didn't know if Dean talked to them first. He wasn't supposed to give out any information about himself – although he'd already broken that law a couple times tonight –but he was _never_ _ever_ allowed to go anywhere with a stranger.

Because, "_For all we know, that guy's really a shape shifter, and he just got back from murdering someone." _Dean's long ago words care back to him in a rush.

Or, _"That stranger could really be a werewolf, Sammy. And you wouldn't even know it until it was too late." _His father warned of supernatural and normal dangers all the time, although the latter could be done simply by having his boys watch the Evening News every once in a while.

But he'd never been told _what_ makes a person untrustworthy. Well, obviously, if they had fangs or talons or something, they were no good – even Sam knew that – but what about normal looking people? How did his dad _know _his first grade teacher wasn't a werewolf? How did Dean _know_ their next-door neighbor wasn't a child molester?

No one had ever taught him how to tell.

But then the elevator _binged _and the doors opened, assaulting Sam with a sudden gust of chilly air, as apparently they'd stopped in the parking garage.

And suddenly Sam was out of time to consider it.

"So, what's it's gonna be, Sam?" The stranger asked evenly, talking to him like an adult, an equal. And that right there pretty much made up his mind for him.

He nodded and stepped onto the concrete, following behind the stranger as the elevator doors closed behind him, cutting off his connection to the rest of the hospital and assaulting him with a sudden unwanted, echoing, and somewhat unsettling, silence.

Sam had to walk fast to keep up with this long-legged stranger, and he kept one hand plastered to his side as he did so, still feeling the pain from his ribs.

"So…" he trailed off, waiting until the man's head tilted in his direction slightly, indicating that he had his attention. "You're gonna help me find my brother, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, and then took a deep breath. "I will. But I was kinda hoping that…"

"That what?" Sam inquired after he didn't continue, wondering absently if he was being baited.

He smiled down at Sam, looking mostly excited, but slightly nervous. "Well…I was wondering…if you wouldn't mind doing me a little favor first."

* * *

If y'all are interested…Review and I'll keep going 


	2. Chapter 2

People Are Strange

_Previously:_

"_So…" he trailed off, waiting until the man's head tilted in his direction slightly, indicating that he had his attention. "You're gonna help me find my brother, right?"_

"_Yeah," he nodded, and then took a deep breath. "I will. But I was kinda hoping that…"_

"_That what?" Sam inquired after he didn't continue, wondering absently if he was being baited._

_He smiled down at Sam, looking mostly excited, but slightly nervous. "Well…I was wondering…if you wouldn't mind doing me a little favor first."_

Chapter Two

"What sorta favor?" Sam asked boldly, curious about what this man wanted of him.

"It's a secret," he said after a slight pause, they continued walking down the parking garage, passing a myriad of cars. Sam's little eyes scanned them all hungrily, in his head he was trying to name the model of everyone, like Dean had taught him to do on one particularly long car ride to South Dakota.

"How can I help you if it's a secret?" He inquired, his mind mostly stuck on the bright red car to his left. Corvette or Mustang? He couldn't remember the specifics behind their differences.

The stranger sighed, and Sam tore his attention away from the cars and back to the shaggy-haired man, wondering absently why it was that grown-ups sighed so much around him. It wasn't as if his question hadn't been logical, even an adult would have asked that, right?

Sam stuck to his guns, not sure about the motives of most adults, but knowing without doubt that _Dean _would have asked the exact same question, and that was good enough for him.

"You gotta trust me, remember?" He finally answered, and Sam did remember. Though he didn't recall actually coming to a conclusion about this man's trustworthiness, he had followed him out of the elevator and into a strange place – that pretty much implied trust, didn't it?

"Yeah, alright." Sam bit out, a little impatient. "But you gotta find Dean and my dad too, right?"

"Absolutely, Sam." He assured. "Abso-freakin'-lutely"

"Then can I do the favor fast? 'Cause I really wanna find my family." He was anxious to get to Dean, to see with his own eyes that his brother hadn't been too badly injured by the vengeful spirit. Seeing his dad wouldn't be too horrible either, especially if the older man wanted to apologize for sending him to this place so completely packed with strangers.

"We'll see." The young man said vaguely, and they walked in silence for a bit longer.

Sam got bored with his 'Identify the car' game fairly quickly, "So..." he dragged the word out for a while. "What's your name?"

"Huh?" He was distracted, Sam realized, so he repeated himself.

"Oh. Huh." The guy seemed a little surprised at the question. Like he didn't think Sam would care about such a thing. "Ah...my name's Cal."

"Hi, Cal." He said it cheerfully; like this was the first time they were being introduced. Which, in a way, it was, Sam reasoned. It was the first time they were talking to one another as two separate, named, individuals. Before it had just been Sam and the stranger. And before that, the stranger and a kid. This was much better.

"Hi, Sam." Cal responded with just as much cheerfulness, although it was of a slightly mocking nature. Sam pretended like he didn't notice. Grown-ups always thought that kids didn't notice when they were being mocked, but in reality, they just didn't care. Well Sam didn't, anyway.

They were silent for a few more minutes, and Sam's boredom was just about getting the best of him, when Cal spoke again. "We're almost there," he told him. "We're meeting a couple of my friends." He threw that last bit in as an afterthought.

"Friends?" Sam questioned warily. Meeting and trusting _a _stranger was bad enough, but a whole group of them? The seven-year-old wasn't too sure about that.

"Yeah," Cal confirmed, sensing Sam's distress he added, "Don't worry, we're not bad people. We just wanna rise above the media propaganda and set loose a wave of anarchy that'll shake the world and change history." His tone stayed level, he shrugged, and Sam really wished he understood what Cal was actually _saying_. "All in a day's work."

"Oh," Sam considered it. Well, pretended to consider it. "Okay." Because really, what choice did he have?

* * *

Newbury Teaching Hospital had this much loathed, infuriating rule where no one was allowed in a patient's room until the supervising doctor had Okayed it. John Winchester suspected that this was due to the hospital staff's inability to pull their heads out of their asses, even though he'd been calmly told - by a friggin' _twelve-_year old-doctor - that it was because they were still residents and it was simply their policy.

"Hey!" He shouted, banging his palm repeatedly on the counter, having given up on waiting outside Dean's room, he was now at the reception desk. "Someone needs to help me, _now_."

"What is it you need, sir?" A petite brunette asked coolly, obviously fed up with the ex-marine's obnoxious behavior.

"A doctor." He spat, not caring at all how rude he sounded. "A real doctor."

"Name please." She demanded, fingers poised above a keyboard, sounding like a friggin' robot.

"Winchester." He informed, glad that they hadn't bothered with fake names in this town. "My son, Dean, and I were brought here almost an hour ago, and no one will tell me what's going on."

"Okay," she acknowledged him, read her computer screen for a little longer, and then looked up at him. "The doctor overseeing your son's treatment is Dr. Hogan. I'll page him now."

"Good," John sighed, running a hand over his stubbly chin wearily, "Do that."

He knew nothing about the severity of his son's injuries - _nothing. _Zip, nada, zero, zilch.

His eldest son had stopped breathing on the way back from their hunt, John remembered the heart attack he'd nearly had when Sam's frantic screams had interrupted his break-neck speed driving, nearly causing him to crash the..._oh, fuck._

"Hey, lady," he spun around, facing the annoyed woman once again. "Lady!" He shouted, making her look up from her vigorous typing and raise a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him.

"My son, my other son," he couldn't fucking believe he'd forgotten about Sammy until just that moment. "He came here, told someone to send an ambulance to our motel. Where is he now?"

She looked slightly alarmed, which alarmed John, because it was the first solid emotion he'd gotten out of her yet - and it wasn't a good one. "Ah..." she trailed off, clicking a few keys and returning her gaze there for a second. "I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester," and she did sound honestly sorry at having to say this. "I don't...I don't know."

"What the hell do you mean you don't know?!" John shouted, upsetting other patients, he was sure, but not caring so much at the moment. "He's seven goddamn years old! Where the hell could he be?"

"Look, I'm sure he's fine," the young woman tried to sound reassuring. "Dr. Hogan will know more than me."

John gritted his teeth, but remained silent. Shouting at this poor, already frightened, moronic, droning, idiotic bitch wouldn't do him any good. He would just have to clench his teeth and _wait_.

_Fuck_... he hated waiting.

* * *

At the moment, though, it was Sam who felt like he'd been waiting forever. Cal had taken him all the way to the back of the parking garage, they were standing - and had been standing for _hours,_ Sam was sure - next to his car. A Firebird, Sam recognized. And at that discovery, he did breathe just a little easier.

"You have a cool car." Sam shared his feelings with Cal, trying also to dispel some of the empty silence of the wide-open space.

"Thanks." The older boy was looking all around, seemingly searching for something, but Sam continued his spiel nonetheless.

"Dean says that you can tell a lot about someone by what kinda car they drive. Like only Soccer mom's drive station wagons, and muscle cars are for bad asses." He smiled a little at his own use of profanity - it made him slightly giddy to use words he knew he wasn't supposed to use.

"Is that right?" Cal smiled a little too, and Sam nodded enthusiastically.

"Yup," Sam continued. "I like Firebirds, 'cause of the name, mostly." He paused, and then added thoughtfully, "But I like Impala's the best."

"Impala's a good car," Cal nodded his agreement. "'specially the classics."

"My dad's got a 1967 one." Sam stated proudly. "It's gonna be Dean's one day. In a long time."

"Your brother old?" It was the first direct question Cal had asked concerning his life and family, and Sam answered without hesitation.

"He's eleven. But he'll be twelve in a few months. Dad puts him in charge a lot," the young boy seemed to have Cal's full attention, which was a nice change from the grown-up's he usually talked to. "It's okay mostly, 'cause he lets me eat Lucky Charms for dinner. But sometimes he won't let me play until I do my homework, and I hate that."

"Don't like school?" Cal sounded sympathetic. "Been there, man. Too many conformists."

"Oh, no." Sam assured quickly, "I do. I like school a lot. Way more than Dean does, but there's this boy in my class who always copies my papers, and I don't want him to anymore."

"So don't let him." Cal provided his solution with amazing casualness.

"I could get Dean to beat him up," Sam considered thoughtfully, "He's done that before. But I don't wanna have to tell him about it."

Cal just smiled. "Sounds like Dean's a pretty good big brother,"

"Yeah," Sam dragged out slowly, studying Cal oddly, as if the elder man was suddenly the one too young to comprehend things like an adult. "Duh."

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

People Are Strange

Chapter Three

John had never been in a predicament quite like this before.

On the one hand, his eldest son was lying in a hospital bed - completely out of his reach, with God only knew what injuries.

On the other hand, his youngest son, his baby, had gone missing after _he_ had sent him to a hospital _alone _to get help. Because he didn't want to leave Dean, because _he _felt guilty for getting the eleven-year-old hurt.

He should have known better than to take Sammy on a hunt. The boy was too young, despite his profound intelligence and complex understanding of what it was the Winchester's did for a living. He was still just a little boy, with little boys instincts and reactions.

And Dean, God bless his little soldier, was nothing if not Sammy's protector.

So really, he should have known that taking Sammy on a hunt would do nothing except distract his elder, and put them all in immediate danger.

His stubborn belief that he could control everything had won out in the end, though, and all three Winchester men had gone hunting together; and a relatively simple tangle with an angry spirit had proved disastrous.

So when he finally encountered Dr. Hogan, a stout black man with a deep frown and a face full of years and years of worry lines, he wasn't really sure what to say first.

He figured, though, he'd get a quicker response out of the _doctor _about his _injured _son, so he went with that. "Dean?" He questioned. "How's my son?"

All the worry and impatience was there, but Dr. Hogan just smiled slightly, taking decades away from his appearance and relieving a little of the weight that had settled in John's stomach.

"Your son's going to be just fine." John stood about a head taller than this man, but felt now like his life was at his mercy.

"Fine?" The ex-Marine choked out disbelievingly. "Fine? He stopped breathing."

"True," he nodded easily, "Your son suffered blunt force trauma to the abdomen. You said he fell down the stairs?"

John nodded absently and the doctor went on, believing his fabrication.

"It must have been quite a bad fall. It caused intense trauma to one of his lungs."

"Oh, god," John rasped, not remembering Dr. Hogan's earlier words of _he's fine. _He just heard the truth behind the situation as a whole; _he could have died._

"He's fine now," the older man assured again, catching John's eye and nodding. "We did a minor surgery as soon as he got here, and there was next to no lasting damage, he's breathing on his own now. We want to keep him a few nights for observation just to make sure no infection sets in, and he'll have to take it easy for a few weeks, take some antibiotics, but after that, he'll be good as new."

John took a few moments to absorb that. _Good as new. _He thought vaguely that he'd never heard words as sweet as that. He let out a long breath, and the doctor sensed his relief. "You've got a strong, kid, Mr. Winchester." He complimented.

John just smiled - that he already knew. "Is he awake now? Can I see him?"

"You can see him," Dr. Hogan nodded, "But he's still unconscious from the pain medication we had to give him." Seeing panic flare up in John again, he quickly assured, "He should be awake within the hour, he may be a little out of it, but nothing to worry about."

"Alright. So he's fine?" Dr. Hogan nodded again and John ran a hand through his hair placing the other hand on the wall next to him, using it as a temporary support. Then, when he felt ready to take more news, he took a deep breath and asked, "And Sam?"

Dr. Hogan, who had been looking down at one of those little clipboards that doctors always seemed to always be carrying, looked up at this, tilting his head slightly, eyes baffled. "Sam?"

John's heart fell.

If the hospital hallway had been quiet, they probably would have heard the hollow _slosh _of it hitting the bottom of his stomach.

He felt like he'd been sucker punched, in the goddamn balls, but he still managed to bite out angrily, "Yeah, my other son. The _seven_-year-old that got an ambulance sent to our motel room."

The doctor's expression remained dumbfounded, and John exploded. "The lady-" he gestured frantically to the lobby and the reception desk. "She said you would know!"

"I...I'm sorry, sir," he shook his head, looking rueful and a whole lot of other things John didn't have the ability to process right then. "But, I've never seen your son before."

------

"Okay, so we all understand the plan, right?" Cal spoke in a hushed tone that even Sam could tell was more for show than actual sneakiness.

Three new strangers nodded in unison. The red-head, Sam remembered was called Annie, because it reminded him of the Little Orphan Annie book Dean had read him.

Far from portraying the innocent little girl in the story though, this Annie wore her hair not in braids, but in a straight line down her back. Her black outfit - similar to Cal's, only tighter- made the dangling thing in her belly button sparkle abnormally.

She was the first to respond to that, rolling her eyes impatiently at Cal, "Stop being a Drama Queen," she ordered in a normal tone. "This is gonna be cake, the security at this place is for shit."

"If it's so shitty than why couldn't you get the security card last month?" Dee-Dee, another girl, around the same age as Cal and Annie, spoke up this time. Dee-Dee had taken an immediate liking to Sam, in much the same way most of Sam's school teachers and baby-sitters did - Dean always blamed it on the dimple.

Dee-Dee, however, seemed to take it to the next level of adoration, and Sam wasn't sure weather to be annoyed or frightened of her cajoling tone. Her long, straight, nearly waist-length brown hair swung around freely as she gestured to Sam. "And do you have to say shit in front of him?"

She bent down so that she was almost eye-level with the seven-year-old. "_Shit _is a bad word." She said slowly. "Okay, honey?"

"He's not two," Annie snarked, grabbing Dee-Dee's attention away before Sam could decide how he wanted to respond to that. "Stop talking to him like he's baby."

"Not everyone has parental issues, Anne," the long-haired girl quipped back, "Don't take it out on him."

"And not everyone sucked on a binky 'til they were five," Annie sounded bitter. "Grow up."

Dee-Dee opened her mouth to respond, but the third stranger, the only male in the group other than Cal, interrupted. "Can't we all just get along," he drawled in a sing-song voice.

Sam had been immediately attracted to this stranger - Kenny. Something about his personality, it was just very open, a little like his big brother, in his opinion. Sam trusted him at once, even though he seemed to be much older than Cal, Dee-Dee and Annie. Not to mention the hair - he had _a lot_ of hair. So much hair that it was almost comical- he had it on his face - like Sam's dad in the winter only much more - and his regular hair was as long as Dee-Dee's, only a whole lot bushier.

He was also the only one totally clad in Tie-dye. Tie-dye shirt, headband, and jeans with so many paint splatters that they might as well get put in the same category. Even his beard seemed to have random spots of color in it.

Sam defiantly liked this man.

Annie, on the other hand, just rolled bright green eyes and said, "Go smoke a bowl."

"Ah, now," Kenny looked saddened. "That's not nice."

"You are a pot-head, my friend," Cal cut back into the conversation. "But that's not the point. If you'd all get past your petty bickering, you could focus on our main objective."

"Then we can all board the mother-ship," Annie interrupted, doing that eye-rolling thing again. "Just talk normal, dude."

"Why don't you just stop being a bitch?" Dee-Dee asked, fake innocently, and Annie's eyes narrowed.

"Uh," Kenny cut in, "I hate to interrupt this cat-fight," he looked at Annie and Dee-Dee, who seemed to squaring off like they were about to attack each other, "_Really _hate to. But, uh, don't ya think maybe someone, at some point, is gonna come looking for the kid?"

All eyes went to Sam, and he felt himself go red. He hated attention.

"How many people are looking for you, Sam?" Cal asked in a calm tone.

The little boy shrugged. "Dr. Dave. My dad if he's here," Sam shrugged again. "I duuno, I just wanna find Dean."

"Who?" One of the girls questioned.

"His brother." Cam explained for him. "I told him I'd find him if he helped us out."

"And how are you gonna do that?" Annie demanded, and Sam's attention went right to Cal.

So far these strangers had been alright. Nice, even. Mostly. But if they weren't going to be able to find his brother...

"I've still got the code for the patient data bank," the shaggy-haired man tossed back easily, and Sam was relieved. He sounded pretty sure of himself.

"They change that." Annie countered.

"Every three weeks," he argued back. "I only got fired last Tuesday."

"Seriously, though," Kenny talked and all eyes - except Sam's - lowered a little. The older man was shorter than the other three. "Someone _is _gonna come looking for the squirt."

"Fine," Annie acknowledged him and turned to Sam. "You remember what you gotta do?"

Sam was going to answer, but again was interrupted.

"Do you really wanna make him do this?" Dee-Dee was chewing on her bottom lip, brown eyes darting from Sam, to Cal, to the far-away entrance to the hospital and back again. "One of us-"

"Security knows all of us." Annie cut in. "Kenny here's not even technically allowed within a hundred square feet of the place, and Allen didn't show. We're damn lucky we found Sam when we did, otherwise we'd all be up a shit creek without a paddle, and you know it. This is planned down the last detail, and we have to get it right. The van's parked around the corner and we don't have much time before it gets towed."

"Yeah, but-"

"Look," Cal sold his point this time. "He'll go in, swipe the security card, and get out. No one'll even notice him."

"What if someone does?"

"What if someone doesn't?" Kenny countered Dee-Dee, and both seemed stuck in their own logic.

"It's just so risky," she sighed.

"No, it's risky to stand here and have this conversation for another hour." Cal barked. "Because then someone up there

with half a brain _will _think to look down here for him, and our whole mission, our whole purpose, will just go up in flames. Do you want that?"

Sam didn't notice the other's reactions, he was taken aback by Cal's outburst. Particularly the words _up in flames._ Sam didn't like flames.

"Fine," Cal spoke to the group after a dew beats, and then again to Sam. "You remember what to do?"

Sam nodded, his brief flash of fear gone and forgotten. "Take the elevator up to the eleventh floor, go down the hallway with all the closed doors until I see the one that's wide open with a bunch of TV's in it."

"Good," Cal nodded atheistically, and Sam felt a rush of pride. "Then..."

"Then go to any of the long, white coats hanging on the wall and take the plastic card out of the pocket. It'll look like a driver's license?"

Cal nodded, "With a picture."

"With a picture," Sam agreed. "And bring it back here."

"Right-O," Cal grinned and held up his hand. Sam gave him a high-five and smiled too. This was fun.

"Now remember," he added after their triumph, "If you see any doctors, they're gonna want to do the same thing that Dr. Dave was gonna do. Make you sleep so you can't see Dean."

"I don't wanna sleep." Sam said solemnly. "I don't like doctors. I won't let any see me."

Kenny chimed in with a proud, "Good for you. Fight the man."

"Alright," Cal took a deep breath, patting Sam's shoulder once. "Get going."

As soon as Sam started to turn around, a thought hit him and he looked back at Cal. "What if I see my dad or Dean?"

"You won't." Annie answered for him, but Sam ignored her, eyes fixed on Cal.

"Forget about us and stay with them." Dee-Dee provided her answer, and Cal smiled, a little sadly, when he heard it.

"Yeah," he nodded his agreement. "Don't tell them about us, but you stay with your family if you find them. I really don't think you will, though."

"Okay." Sam nodded and decided that was enough questions. He put on his fight face and started towards the elevator doors once again.

This adventure would lead him back to his brother, and Sam was beyond certain that he was doing the right thing.

TBC...

----------------

A/N: Insert dramatic music here, huh? Sounds like things for little Sammy may not be looking so good. All thoughts on the matter most welcome - just hit that little button and sing your woes, praises, questions, comments or concerns.


	4. Chapter 4

People Are Strange

Chapter Four

After John's little out-burst in the hallway - and with the belief that a much bigger blow-up was soon to follow if he didn't do something fast - Dr. Hogan wasted no time in finding out what was going on with Sam Winchester.

"I've only been here a few minutes," he explained, calling various numbers from the reception desk phone, trying to placate John and cover his own ass simultaneously. "Dean was my first patient. Someone is bound to know what's going on. We don't lose children in this hospital, I assure you."

Twenty minutes later, standing outside Dean's room with Dr. Dave Harold, John wasn't so convinced of that.

"You _lost _my son." He stated, after being briefed on what had happened after Sam had arrived there earlier that evening.

"He ran away when I tried to give him a shot," the doctor said, altering the image of the events slightly, to cast him in a more favorable light. "He bit me so bad I needed ten stitches," he held up his bandaged hand like John hadn't already noticed it.

"You _lost_ my son," he repeated slowly, as if still waiting for that knowledge to sink in.

"We've notified hospital security and the local police department - they've sectioned off the entire block. No one leaves - no cars, buses - until they get searched. If we don't find him within the hour, they start doing door to door."

John stared.

"The hospital security is searching the whole building discreetly," he went on, speaking fast, "So as not to cause panic. You'll need to talk to an officer as well."

For long moments John just continued staring at this doctor. This guy looked like he belonged in California, tethered to a surf board, getting high every night around a bonfire- not treating illnesses. Losing kids.

"You lost my son." It seemed to be the only thing he was able to say, like his brain had been short-circuited by the sheer enormity of what had happened so far that night.

Every time he said it though, he portrayed a different emotion; he'd gone from shock, to disbelief, and now he'd progressed to eerily calm. His tone was so loaded, that what the young doctor really heard was, 'I'm five seconds away from taking out a gun and shooting you.'

Lucky for all, that doctor would never know how capable John Winchester was of doing just that.

Also lucky, and well-timed, at that moment, was Dr. Hogan, exiting Dean's room and saying, as optimistically as was possible, given the circumstances, "Dean's awake."

The ex-Marine seemed to weight his options, and both of the doctors saw that there was a very real possibility that a couple stitches might not be Dave's only injury that night.

Everyone held their breath, but then John seemed to deflate, his shoulders sagged and he turned, nodding at the older - in his opinion, more competent, doctor -and waited for him to leave again before turning back to Dr. Harold.

He stepped into the man's personal space and narrowed his eyes, speaking dangerously, "Find Sam," he was gritting the words through clenched teeth, "Or so help me God, I _will _hurt you."

* * *

"Hey, kiddo," John entered Dean's room and smiled sadly, wearing an entire different face than he had out in the hallway with the doctors. His eldest son needed him right now, and that's all that mattered.

He cringed inwardly at how small his boy looked in that hospital bed, how pale and withdrawn - fragile - he seemed to be. Of course, that description didn't reach his eyes, which were alive and dancing with unhidden emotion.

"Dad," Dean rasped as soon as he entered the room, voice scratchy; he cleared his throat. "What happened?"

"You got hurt, sport," he admitted, and knew he'd have to admit a lot more. Suddenly he regretted his decision to always be forthright with his boys, wished he could just lie and say everything was fine, that there was nothing for him to worry about.

"I remember that," Dean was snapping impatiently, "I meant, what happened to Sammy? That doctor wouldn't tell me."

And John should have known; because he could barely recall a moment since Sam was born that his sons hadn't been together.

From long days spent together with Mary before that fateful night; to the long, _long_ hours Dean had spent curled up in Sammy's crib after their mother had been killed - when the presence of his big brother seemed to be the only thing that would quell the infant's mighty screams. To beds shared at crappy motels and friend's houses - a slightly grown up version of that familiar comfort.

Sam would listen to Dean - not that he _wouldn't _listen to John - but his eldest had way of talking to the boy that their father couldn't begin to comprehend.

Even when they were at school, they were never far from each other - and they never seemed to tire of it.

Dean and Sam had created their own world, their own set of rules and forms of communication - and sometimes John felt so left out of that, that it physically hurt him. At the same time though, he had to be glad for it, because it was that bond that would save their lives in years to come.

So he should have known that Dean's first concern was - and always would be - his little brother. As it was, the boy was still looking up at him pleadingly, expression getting more and more panicked as the seconds ticked by.

"Dean-O," John sighed, "Ah…"

"Dad?" The eleven-year-old croaked, frightened, "Is Sammy okay?"

John took a deep breath. "I don't know."

"You don't…"

"After…" he glanced around them out of habit and lowered his voice a smidgen, "After the spirit attacked you," he explained, "You stopped breathing. But you're fine now."

"And Sam?" Dean was so unconcerned with himself that John briefly wondered if he'd done something wrong there.

"I sent Sammy here to get help after we got back to the motel."

"By himself?" Dean asked ludicrously.

John cringed, "Yeah, I know, it was a bad call."

Dean didn't use his father's rare admittance of fault against him, didn't seem to be able to think at all beyond, "Where's Sammy?"

"That's the thing, son," John sighed heavily, he took a seat in the chair next to Dean's bed and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. "No one knows."

* * *

Cal, Dee-Dee and Annie all stared at Sam with identical expressions of disbelief when he returned with the little white, driver's license type card not long after they'd sent him to get it.

Kenny, however, was just smirking knowingly. "Told ya the kid was good." He sounded triumphant. "Just like my kid when he was that age. You'll go off to college, man. Just like he did."

Sam shrugged and handed over the plastic square.

Cal studied the card a lot, looking it over, front and back, running long fingers over it - then passed it on to the girls so they could do the same.

The seven-year-old grew impatient quickly. "Can you find Dean now?" He demanded.

"Yeah, sure," Cal said distractedly, and Sam's face lit up. Then quickly fell when he amended, "You'll have to come upstairs with us first, though."

"But I want Dean back now," he whined. He was using the kind of voice that usually got him in trouble with dad, and made his brother fix him with a hard, annoyed glare; but he couldn't help it.

He was tired, he missed his brother, his side hurt where the doctor said his ribs were broken or cracked, or whatever he'd said, and he just wanted to go back to the motel, or the Impala, or whatever they were calling home today.

Really, he just wanted his family.

"I know," Cal paid him more attention at the whine, and assured, "It won't be too much longer. We actually thought this part would be the hardest to pull off."

Sam shrugged again, tiredly. "It was easy."

"And no one saw you?" Annie grilled. "You didn't tell anyone what you were doing?"

Dee-Dee smacked her shoulder, "Of course he didn't."

Annie just looked at him.

"I didn't." Sam confirmed.

"Good," she smiled, Sam realized it was the first time he'd seem her do so. "Okay, so," she turned to the rest of the group. "Me and Kenny are gonna go pick up the van-"

"Hey," the older man protested at once, "Why do I have to go get the stinkin' van? I wanna go with Cal and Dee-Dee."

"You're the most recognizable," Annie told him, and Sam smiled when he pouted. He'd never seen a grown-up pout before. Of course, he'd never seen anybody quite like this group of strangers _ever_ before.

"True," Cal and Dee-Dee were nodding and Kenny continued to sulk as Annie kept giving orders.

"We'll park right outside the North-East entrance, so all you'll have to do is take the elevator straight down from the lab and go out the door. Wear lab coats, if you can,"

"Well, no duh," Dee-Dee snapped. "Hey, why don't you take Sam? It might make it easier for us-"

"No way," Sam spoke up at once. "I'm staying here."

Because he trusted Cal and Kenny - the girls too, he supposed - but there was no way he was getting into a car with any of them, just…_no._

"He'll be fine," Cal shrugged off Dee-Dee's concerns, "He'll probably get a kick out of it."

"Fine," Dee-Dee gave in. "Look, we don't have much time. It should take about , what? Six, seven trips to get them all down? If Annie helps?"

"Sounds about right," Cal nodded, and gestured towards the back entrance of the Parking Garage. "Go."

And just like that, Annie and Kenny were gone.

"Cal?" Sam finally had the opportunity to ask the question that'd formed quite a while ago.

"Huh?" The tall man was studying his watch, seemingly waiting for something. Dee-Dee kept looking back and forth between the exit Kenny and Annie had just left out of, and the entrance to the hospital.

"What are you guys doing?"

"We're giving Annie and Kenny a five minute head start," he answered. "We timed this all out weeks ago."

"No," Sam shook his head. "What are you _doing?_ Why do you need a van? Why'd you want me to get that…card thing? Are you stealing something?"

Sam knew that sometimes his own family had to steal certain things in order to get by - as hunting ghosts didn't exactly bring in the big bucks - well, that's what Dean said, anyway. And he was okay with that, mostly because he never really thought about it.

In this situation though, with four strangers and a van, he was curious.

"What we're doing, Sam," Cal spoke deeply, like he was talking to someone else - not a kid, "Is taking back what this hospital stole."

"The hospital stole something from you?" Sam asked in amazement. He didn't think hospitals did things like that.

"Not from us," Cal explained. "From society."

Sam was going to ask him what he meant by that, but Dee-Dee cut in. "It's happy hour. Let's go."

Cal nodded and stood straight, as he always bent to Sam's level when he was really talking to him. "You'll see when we get up there, okay?"

And again, Sam just nodded and followed them back through the Parking Garage.

* * *

TBC…

A/N: Any guesses as to what it is they're up to?


	5. Chapter 5

People Are Strange

Chapter Five

Both John and Dean had heard all the details of Sam's little encounter with Dr. Dave Harold. Every last thing the boy had said and done was now an open book - a vividly detailed story- for his brother and father. Who were both currently in Dean's hospital room sans any doctor.

"Hell," John sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly, "At least we know Sam listens to us."

Dean snorted, but there was no feeling behind it; it sounded wrong too -tainted- coming from an eleven-year-old. "What if something happens to him, dad?"

His son's voice was soft and scared and John realized that he'd forgotten, as he so often did, that Dean was still just a child.

"Your brother's strong," John spoke reassuringly. Because he was the parent-the grown-up- and for some reason that meant that was his job. "He's a fighter, he-"

"He's seven." Dean's inarguable truth broke through John's helpful platitudes. "He's seven."

It didn't matter how many knives they'd wielded or that they knew how to fire a gun; that they were conversational in Latin and had heard stories of death and destruction for… well, Sam his whole life, and Dean since he'd watched his normal life go up in flames at age four.

It didn't matter that they were more mature than they should be, knew and accepted more than many grown men would ever dream of. Had seen things that only existed in the nightmares of the normal.

They were still his boys. And by God, John would put them back together.

He left Dean's bedside minutes later, assuring his son that he would fix it. That he would find Sam and make this horrible, horrible night okay again. Dean just smiled trustingly and nodded - because for some reason that boy always had faith in him.

John strode down the hospital corridor quickly and with purpose. He would search every nook and cranny of this building- he knew his son better than any of these brain dead employees. He knew where Sam would hide, where he would go if he got scared.

At least, he hoped he did. But there was no room for doubt now. So he was confident and sure.

He would find Sam.

At least, that's what he thought until he reached the very end of the hallway; where a tall woman in a gray, pinned-striped suit stopped him in his tracks. She looked official.

"John Winchester?" She spoke officially.

The eldest Winchester could only nod, knowing that whatever was to come of this wouldn't be good.

"My name id Cynthia Myers, I'm a social worker from DCF." She held up an small ID badge she wore around her neck as proof.

John's mind could form only one fully coherent thought.

Oh, crap.

* * *

"Where-"

Three simultaneous "Shhh!" sounds cut Sam off before he could even think about finishing the question.

The seven-year-old just rolled his eyes and continued to follow them down the hallway quietly. They're behavior reminded him of road trips with Dean and his dad, when they would get annoyed with him for asking 'Are we there yet?'

Thinking of long rides in the Impala just made Sam miss his family even more than he'd already been; and he decided right then- sneaking through a deserted hospital hallway with three kind-of strangers - that he would never leave his brother of his dad for any extended amount of time ever again.

At least, not both of them at the same time like this. If dad had to go on a hunting trip, he'd stay with Dean. And if Dean…well, really, Sam couldn't think of a good reason to ever leave his brother's side again.

So good, that was settled.

Now he just had to put up with Cal's stupid adventure for a little while longer.

"Okay," Dee-Dee whispered a few minutes later as they all stopped in unison in front of a door labeled with large numbers. 938, Sam read them. "This is it. Every one ready?"

"Just open the damn door." Annie demanded impatiently, and Sam rolled his eyes again. She reminded him of some of the girls he went to school with.

For once, Dee-Dee didn't snap back. She just let out a deep breath and took the card Sam had stolen from her pocket, she looked at it for a long moment before turning around and swiping through the gray metal box on the wall next to the door that seemed to be there for that purpose alone.

Both Cal and Annie looked like they were holding their breaths and Sam wondered absently what they were so nervous about.

After a second or two the tiny dots on the box changed from red to green - just like a traffic light, Sam noticed - and the door beeped.

Smiles broke out on everyone's faces as Cal did the honors and pulled the door open.

Sam thought, _finally. _

* * *

"Yes?" John answered stiffly. This was not what he needed right now. 

"I need to talk to you about your sons."

"Did you find Sammy?" He couldn't help but question hopefully, knowing that the tiny frown that broke out on her thin lips probably wasn't a good sign.

"No," she answered expectantly. "But the police called me when they got the report of a missing child."

"Why?" Best to know what your in trouble for, before you go trying to defend yourself.

"It's standard procedure." She said it just a little too casually.

"Okay," the eldest hunter accepted grudgingly. "So what do you want to talk about?"

"Mostly, Mr. Winchester," Her gray eyes locked with his and John saw all the suspicion and unguarded anger that she held there. "I want to know how it is both your sons ended up in the hospital tonight."

Lying had always been one of John's strong points -even before he'd delved into the supernatural side of the world - and words flowed from his mouth naturally, believingly. "Dean, my eldest son, fell down the stairs. Sammy happened to be standing at the bottom. Bless his little heart, he tried to catch his brother, when he saw him falling, but he's only seven and Dean knocked him right into the railing."

She made a 'hmm' sound silently took some notes on a pad of paper she was carrying. "How many stairs was it?" Her gaze didn't falter.

John pictured the staircase at the motel they were staying at, the one outside that lead to the second floor of rooms. "It was a full flight of stairs, but Dean only fell about halfway down. Tripped over his shoelaces."

"Where were you when all this happened?" As if to imply he was a bad parent because he couldn't keep tabs on his children twenty-four seven.

_You try it, lady._ John wanted to bite harsh words at her_. You try raising two boys on your own._

"In our room," he wasn't hiding the location of where they'd been staying. He just wasn't advertising it.

"You let them out by themselves?" He glanced unconsciously to her left hand. She wasn't married. She probably had no experience on parenting; she'd just made her life duty about criticizing how others went about it.

"They're boys." John sighed, rubbing his eyes so hard that when he looked up again he saw bright spots dancing in his field of vision. "I set rules, and most of the time they follow them, but I can't be their watchdog."

"You sound like you don't really care your son is missing." Did he now? John's eyebrows shot up disbelievingly. "Do you believe this is no big deal? That boys will be boys?"

"I-"

But he never got the chance to finish. "Did you hurt your sons?"

"No." The ex-Marine barked harshly. In a way, he'd known it'd been coming, but the question still managed to throw him. Like he'd ever hurt Sam or Dean. His sons. Mary's sons. It was unfathomable. "Why would you even think that?"

"There was bruising on Dean's abdomen." She steeled her gaze, obviously thinking John's disbelief was an act. "Bruises in the shape of handprints."

Well damn it all to hell.

* * *

"Well?" Cal stood before Sam with a massive grin, the boy could only look at what was before them in a sort of awed trance.

"Is this a zoo?" The seven-year-old questioned. He knew that it wasn't, but it was the only thing that made sense.

Before Cal and Sam, who stood right in front of the now closed gray metal door of the infiltrated hospital room, sat dozens of cages, and in those cages were more animals than Sam had ever seen up close in his entire life.

He could scarcely tear his eyes away from them. He saw dogs, cats, rabbits, ferrets; everything he always saw in the pet stores when he could get Dean to take him into one. Yet there were also monkeys, small ones, but that didn't deter Sam's excitement, and birds and a couple other small, furry things he couldn't put a name to.

"No," Cal clasped a hand on his shoulder, but Sam barely even noticed. He watched as Dee-Dee and Annie went to two smaller cages and started cooing the animals – a bird and a large rabbit – to stay still and quiet. "This isn't a zoo."

They lifted the cages and started back out the door.

Sam could only watch. This wasn't what he'd been expecting. At all. The sheer unexpectedness of it made him forget about the pain in his side and his growing need find his family.

They had to move out of the way so the girls could get past him, Cal steering Sam's motionless body for him.

Annie just gave him a wide grin before sticking her head out the door, declaring, "All clear." And leaving again with the bunny quivering in the cage she held.

Annie stopped for longer, her bird flapping its wings incessantly, but not squawking like some of the others.

"We do good, Sam." She told him before leaving.

"These animals are here so doctors can do tests on them." Sam followed Cal farther into the room, there were aisles made of tables and cages, the one they were in had mostly cats. A few hissed at them.

The younger of the two absorbed these words. "Are they sick?"

"No," Cal sighed, and for the first time since Sam met him in that elevator- which seemed so long ago now – he sounded sad. "The doctors give them medicine, the stuff they give humans, _before_ they can give it to the people. They test on them."

Sam's face must have betrayed his confusion.

"They hurt them." He said in a serious tone that reminded Sam of talks with his father.

He'd never like that tone.

"Why?"

"Because they can." Cal said simply, and it was unfamiliar; Sam had gotten used to never understanding what the older man was saying.

"But…bu-" he bit his lip then, feeling like he was about to cry. He like animals, had always wanted a pet. Why would people – people you're supposed to trust – hurt them for no reason? "That's not fair."

"That's life." He said it gently, with his hand still on his shoulder squeezing lightly like Dean did sometimes, and it made him feel a little better.

Of course, Sam already knew that life wasn't fair. Had learned that the first time he'd asked his brother why they didn't have a mommy like all the other kids. But still, this new level of people being mean… he didn't want to know about it.

"But we're getting them out of here." Cal's voice was more upbeat as he stuck his hand through the bars of a cage and stroked a purring, gray cat. "We're gonna take them someplace safe." Cal looked down at him calmly. "Wanna help?"

Sam met his eyes after only a moment of hesitation and nodded firmly, feeling like, for the first time this whole long, long night, he got to chose something for himself. "Yeah." 


	6. Chapter 6

People Are Strange

Chapter Six

"We need to bring the cage." Annie and Dee-Dee had been arguing back and forth for, what felt to Sam, like hours now on this subject. "We can't just let a monkey roam around the back of the van."

"He'll be fine," Dee-Dee dismissed yet again. Sam was only half listening to them, he was much more preoccupied with the monkey in question, who was currently sitting across from the child on the floor, completely and utterly fascinated by Sam's every move.

The seven-year-old was thoroughly wrapped up in the attention, not used to anybody looking up to him and imitating him like the monkey was. He was all too used to being the baby of the family.

"No," Annie said slowly, "He'll be excited and loud. And distracting as hell if Kenny's driving. This whole plan's not gonna work if we crash the van before we get to the reserve."

"The cage is too small." Dee-Dee whined as the monkey mirrored Sam and stuck a long finger in either of its ears. Sam laughed at the sight, drawing all the adults' attentions to him.

Cal, who was standing off to the side by a computer, finally put the situation to rest. "We'll have to have the cage when we get there anyway."

Annie smirked triumphantly and Dee-Dee sighed in defeat.

"But take him last." Cal added. "Sam likes him."

"He's funny." The young boy spoke up at him.

"Yeah, he is." Cal agreed softly as the two females trickled out of the background again, carrying some of the last cages.

In fact, as Sam glanced around, he noticed all that was left were large, glass tanks holding gigantic snakes that Sam was torn between being frightened of and finding completely awesome.

Those tanks looked much bigger and heavier than the metal-barred cages that Annie and Dee-Dee had been carrying out for the past half hour; and he figured they would go one at a time with two people hefting each side. Like when dad and Pastor Jim had both needed to carry the dead werewolf to the hole they'd dug for it out in the woods surrounding Jim's church last month.

"Hey, Sam?" Cal called. He'd been clicking away at the computer for the last few minutes while the younger boy had been preoccupied with the monkey he'd let out.

"Huh?"

"What's your last name?"

"What?" He turned - he was sitting crossed-legged on the floor and had to move his whole body to face Cal - and the small monkey copied him, making a slightly disgruntled noise at the sudden shift.

"Your last name." He repeated, pointing to the glowing computer. "I need it to find your brother."

"He's not in there." Sam said, confused. He didn't know what a computer was exactly, only that many places used them to harbor information and long lists of numbers. The way his dad always spoke of them, he believed them to be a bad thing.

Cal cracked a smile. "Yeah he is. Or well, information about him is."

Sam looked at a loss.

The tall man gestured for him to come closer and Sam did after only a moment's hesitation, holding out his own hand and letting the monkey grasp it with a cold, oddly scaly hand once he was up.

Cal pulled a chair over so Sam could stand on it and see the screen; the computer was almost eye level with Cal and not behind a desk like the ones Sam always saw in offices and in waiting rooms, but propped up on a shelf of sorts.

"See, when someone comes to a hospital, the doctors get their name and information and file it away in this thing." He explained, tapping the side of the boxy machine almost affectionately. Sam saw a long column of words and a small white box.

"So anyone can see it?" He asked, wondering if it was that easy, why his dad didn't use one of these things when they were trying to find people during a hunt.

"Well…no." Cal scratched the back of his neck like Dean often did when he did something he knew he wasn't supposed to do. "Only doctors are supposed to be able to see this stuff. See, they protect all this information with a password. But this hospital is kinda old and…not technologically up to date. You know what I mean?"

Sam shook his head back and forth.

"Never mind." Cal said. "You'll understand when you're a little older. Basically, though, I need your brother's last name to run a search for him throughout the hospital. I tried just Dean, but there were eight matches."

"Eight people here are named Dean too?" Somehow, that baffled him more than the overall concept of technology.

The monkey, who was sitting on the floor next to the chair Sam was standing on, scratched his head; silently agreeing with Sam's tone.

"Yup." Cal nodded, snickering at the primate. "'Course three of 'em are doctors."

"Cool." Sam breathed, then decided, after everything he'd been through tonight, everything he'd shared with Cal, Dee-Dee, Annie and Kenny, after seeing that what they were doing was kind of like what _his _family did for people…well, he'd come to trust these strangers. "Winchester."

"What?" Cal, who had started clicking something while Sam pondered his options, now turned to face him.

"My last name." He said. "Dean's last name. Winchester."

Cal's eyebrows raised as a smile broke out on his face. "Like the gun?" Sam didn't know it yet, but that was the first of hundreds of times he would hear that throughout the course of his life.

"Yeah." He nodded.

"Righteous." Cal turned back to the glowing screen and the monkey clapped his hands excitedly.

* * *

"Look, lady." John let out a deep sigh, not knowing how he could possibly explain the ghost's handprints, and deciding to simply ignore it for the moment. "I appreciate what you do. Really. But I have to find my son now." _And get the hell outta here._

John started walking away from the well-intentioned but overly cynical woman in front of him, thinking with a flare that she wouldn't say anything to him.

Only then she did. "Sir, if you take another step, I will have you arrested."

"_Arrested_?" The eldest Winchester whirled in place to confront her pointy face again. "For what?"

"Suspected child abuse." She ticked off on a manicured hand. "Hindering an investigation."

"An investigation?" He parroted.

"The police are trying to find a missing child." She said with an air of false calm.

"_My _Child." He growled.

"Mr. Winchester you have two options right now." She took a threatening step forward. "You can either stay with me here and answer my questions, or I can get an officer down here to arrest you, take you to the station, and you can answer my questions, and theirs, there." Her face was set as tightly as John's jaw. "And remember, if you really care that much about your youngest son, that any police officer involved in your arrest is one less able body out there looking for Sam."

John met her gaze head on. "You have no idea what you're doing." He informed her.

She took that as his acceptance and gestured a long arm to the waiting room area. "Oh, I think I do."

* * *

"Room two seventy." Cal declared with triumph. "Just a floor below us."

Sam felt relief flood him at the knowledge that his brother was indeed here. "Is he okay?"

"Ahh..." Cal turned back to the screen for a moment, clicked a few times, skimmed, and then faced Sam, who had taken a seat on the chair he'd been standing on. "It says he hurt his lung and they had to perform a surgery. A small one. Says he'd stopped breathing before he got here, but I guess you knew that."

Sam's eyes were wide and Cal rushed to reassure, kneeling so he was at eye level with the boy, and the Chimp, who had crawled into his lap when he'd sat down.

"He's fine. It says he'll have to take medicine for a while, but they're letting him out the day after tomorrow."

"He's okay?" Sam confirmed, not noticing his furry friend plucking at the collar of his T-shirt.

"Yup." Cal seemed as happy as Sam was to hear this.

"Okay." Sam said, and removed himself from the chair, causing the monkey to make disagreeing sounds. "I'm gonna go find him. Thanks, Cal!"

Sam practically ran to the door, beyond eager to find his big brother, and only Cal's last minute, "Wait!" stopped him.

Turning to face the older man, he watched as Cal stood, straightening his black shirt as he did. "Do you remember the room number?"

"Two seventy." Sam said at once. Like he was going to forget where his brother was.

"Right," Cal fidgeted. "You're right."

"I know."

"Uh..." He seemed to deflate a little then, which baffled the child. "Alright. Be careful. Oh, and don't tell anyone about-" he waved his hand, motioning around them. "You know. This."

"I won't." Sam said.

"Promise?" Cal pressed.

The seven-year-old knew better than to ever tell his family about this little adventure, he knew how much both his brother and his dad worried about him talking to strangers and getting into trouble. "I promise."

"Good." He said, but still wouldn't let go of Sam's gaze. "Don't get caught by the man, Sam. Fight the powers."

"I will." And this time the seven-year-old actually had some clue as to what he was talking about.

"Good." Cal repeated, but still wouldn't say goodbye. "It's really late." He glanced at a clock on the wall. Sam followed his gaze, but had no idea how to tell time on a clock that wasn't digital, so it didn't do him much good. "Or early. So... Be careful."

"You said that already." Sam pointed out.

Cal just smiled, his face looking sad, and the young boy thought perhaps he was going to say something _more_, but Dee-Dee and Annie chose that moment to come back into the room -which was now completely lacking any animal other than the monkey.

Which Annie made a few cooing sounds at and scooped up like a small child when it came to her, obviously missing the attention Sam had been giving it. She didn't say anything, but looked meaningfully at Cal and Dee-Dee before leaving the room.

Dee-Dee scooped up the Chimp's cage in one hand and faced Cal. "Come on," she said with a smile, looking at Sam. "Let him go."

"But..." It was the first time Sam had heard Cal whine and the young boy finally entertained the thought that this stranger might have grown to like him.

Making a split second decision, he ran back across the room and flung himself at Cal's waist, holding on as tight as his bruised stomach would let him. Hugging wasn't a regular thing with the Winchester's, but his brother had been known to cave when Sam was upset. Plus, he'd seen normal people do it.

Cal reeled back at first, surprised, but slowly lowered his arms and placed them on Sam's back. He held on for a few long moments and they both heard Dee-Dee sniffle a little.

"Alright, Sam," Cal took a deep breath and let go; the younger boy stepped back slowly. "Get outta here."

Sam nodded, waved good-bye to Dee-Dee and shot one final glance at the stranger he had come to know, trust and even like; before turning around and walking out.

This adventure was over.

* * *

Finding Dean proved easier than he thought it would. His brother's room was right where it was supposed to be on the second floor, and Sam was able to walk in easily. He was surprised that he hadn't accidentally alerted a doctor or security guard to his presence yet.

His father had taught him how to be sneaky - it was part of their job - but usually when a lot of people were looking for one kid, it was hard to hide.

Sam wasn't overly concerned with it though, because now he was in his brother's room. Dean was lying on the hospital bed; his eyes were closed and he looked paler than normal, his breathing was too shallow.

A machine beeped rhythmically next to him and suddenly, Sam had never been so happy in his whole life. His eyes filled with tears that he tried to blink away but wouldn't quite let up.

He knew he should call out to his brother, to wake him up and let him know that he was okay, but just as soon as the thought occurred to him - exhaustion hit.

Just like that, _everything _caught up with him.

The hunt, the ghost, his fear, his father's fear, the doctor, his injury, sneaking around the hospital, helping Cal, Dee-Dee, Annie and Kenny, the animals. All night he'd been worried about Dean. Scared that he wasn't really at the hospital, that he'd gotten hurt really bad and would die like their mommy. He hadn't realized this is what he'd been thinking, but seeing his brother okay now, he knew it had been. All night it had been chewing a hole through the pit of his stomach.

And now, seeing Dean alive on the bed, knowing he would be okay, Sam was a tiny baby again, and wanted nothing more than his big brother to comfort him.

He pulled a chair - that had been conveniently placed right next to his brother's hospital bed - a little closer and used too heavy limbs to crawl up the side of the stiff mattress.

Dean was lying flat on his back and the seven-year-old took the liberty of moving his arm just enough so he could slip underneath it, resting his head on Dean's chest.

Sam's breathing evened out just right, in time with his brother's. Because shallow or not, the older boy took deeper breaths.

The last thing Sam remembered was the feeling of security, safety, as his big brother's arm subconsciously tightened around him and he snuggled further into his side.

_Now _the adventure was over.

TBC...

A/N: Sorry about the long wait for this chapter, I've been scattered lately. But tell me what you thought? All that's left now is for John to get himself out of his little predicament. Of course, I never really liked Papa Winchester...

Review!


	7. Chapter 7

People Are Strange

Chapter Seven

Cynthia Myers looked at John Winchester like he was the scum of the earth. Hell, she was looking at him like he was worse than scum; he was the scum they scraped off scum to see what kind of scum they were really dealing with.

And in all honesty, he couldn't blame her.

Not that he believed he was scum, he knew he wasn't - but the limited information and misleading facts she had complied together on him and his sons painted the picture of a guy he certainly wouldn't mind beating the crap out of.

"And what about last March?" She went on with the innovatory of their multiple moves. "File says Sam and Dean were out of school for two weeks after you left your apartment in-" she looked again to her thick manila folder. "New Jersey."

"That was mostly during a break they had from school." John felt beads of sweat collecting on the back of his neck.

"In March?" She raised her eyebrows disbelievingly.

"Uh... St. Patrick's Day?" He tried with a charming smile.

"I'm glad you find this amusing." She said disapprovingly.

"Look, I don't remember." Which he honestly didn't. Why hadn't they been in school last March?

He knew if he had made a mistake, gotten weeks and months mixed up during hunts, and not registered them in a new school, that Dean wouldn't say anything. His eldest son, while exceptionally bright, didn't do structured learning environments too well. He knew though, that Sam would have informed him of his blunder. Sam liked school like Dean liked target practice and John was almost positive nothing could keep him away from education. Unless maybe Dean had pleaded with him not to say anything? Bribed him, perhaps?

"You don't remember?" Cynthia echoed.

Yeah, that made him sound like a real upstanding guy. "It was only two weeks." He said helpfully. "And we were staying with a friend of mine who taught them while I was away on business."

"You mean they were homed schooled?" She inquired.

John honestly thought that practice had deflated and died out somewhere in the sixties.

"For a while." He decided.

"And who was this _friend _of yours?" She was clearly thinking something along the lines of crack dealer or pimp.

"A priest." Take that, bitch.

"And he has a home schooling license?" Her tone was fake hopeful and compliant. Almost like she wanted to help the eldest Winchester.

"A license?" Seriously, a license? To teach a seven and eleven-year-old? Anyone who made it through middle school could successfully do that.

"Yes." She snapped. "Without a licensed teacher teaching your children, there's no way that information would be on their records. So for all I know you're making it up. You and your sons could have driven to Mexico to buy illegal narcotics, or been staying at a crack house, or sleeping in your car."

"That's a little far fetched, isn't it?" He blanched.

"You'd be amazed at what I see every day, Mr. Winchester." She looked almost sad, but mostly angry. "People like you who think they can get away with absolutely anything. You're controlling and dominant and your sons are paying the price. Those boys are innocent and you're corrupting them."

John was corrupting them?

_Life _was corrupting them. Watching their mother die, and knowing something evil was responsible for it corrupted them. Knowing a truth that no one else dare dreams is corrupting them. Being motherless is corrupting them.

John Winchester knew what corruption was, and he, more than anyone, was trying to give his kids the tools they would need to fight back against it. To keep them floating in a world that wanted nothing more than to see them sink.

"You don't know Jack-shit about my life, or about my sons." He snapped, anger finally consuming. "You think you can waltz in here with your folder and your holier than thou attitude and _know _what kind of father I am? Who my sons are?"

She reeled back in her chair, becoming rigid. "I seriously suggest you dial back your tone, _sir_, or I'll be forced-"

"John Winchester?" Dr. Hogan's purposely-loud interruption caught both their attentions immediately.

The ex-Marine looked in the man's eyes at once and saw something very close to trust there; certainly it was a level of understanding. He had an ally in this doctor.

"Is Dean alright?" He asked immediately, knowing this man was his son's primary doctor.

"Dean is just fine." He smiled widely, shooting an inconspicuous glance to Ms. Myers. "And so is Sam."

John was out of his seat so fast he felt a wave of vertigo, but scarcely paid it any mind. "Sammy?"

"I went to check on Dean and found Sam in bed with him." The doctor's smile was genuine.

"How is that possible?" John asked, dumbfounded. "Sam disappeared right after he got here, before me and Dean did, right? How would he know what room? And where was he? Did he say anything to you? Is he okay?"

"I didn't wake him." Dr. Hogan spoke gently. "I did a quick once over to make sure there were no wounds or signs of internal distress and, other than his initial diagnosis by Dr. Harold, he seemed fine. I was going to wake him to do a more thorough exam, but I do believe Dean _growled _at me in his sleep."

John felt shaky from relief, rubbing the back of his neck tenderly. "Yeah," he breathed, "That sounds like Dean."

"Well I'm glad Sam is alright." Cynthia spoke for the first time since the doctor appeared and John was absently surprised that she hadn't disappeared at the same time his built up tension, fear and anger did, at the news Sammy was alright. "However, that does nothing to change my suspicions of you."

"What-"

"John Winchester, I'm placing you under arrest for suspected child abuse." She motioned to a police officer that had been standing nearby since she'd started talking to him. The ex-Marine had had a sinking feeling that he'd been hovering there waiting for an invitation to arrest him. And hey, he'd been right.

The man was white, probably younger than John, but not by much, with a scruffy face and the overall look of a guy who had just strolled out of a back alley after beating someone to death with a tire iron.

He was built, too.

He was twisting John's arms behind his back a moment later as the eldest Winchester debated his options with lightening quick reasoning. Getting away from this man might be easy, but grabbing Sam and Dean and getting out of the hospital would be next to impossible, especially with all their security still out trolling.

Yet being taken to the police station was risky as well, and what if they stuck Sam and Dean in foster homes? Put him in jail? There was a very real possibility that he wouldn't see his sons again for a long while. That fear raced to his heart and overpowered the thought that he'd probably be able to get out of a holding cell easily and surly they'd keep Sam and Dean in the hospital at least a few nights for observation.

"Now hold on a second," Dr. Hogan stepped forward and tried to stop the proceedings. "Don't you think this is a little much? I mean-"

"Excuse me, doctor," Ms. Myers spoke firmly. "But you aren't a part of this."

Still the good man objected. "I know, but-" he took a step forward.

"Sir, do not come any closer." The deep-throated tone of the police officer as he twisted both John's wrists into a grip in one of his massive paws so he could hold up the other palm to fend off the doctor.

John took that opportunity to move quickly and twist his arm in a way that should have gotten him out of the hold, but the police officer seemed almost to be expecting that, and counter-attacked immediately, forcing his elbow hard into the center of John's back.

"You son of a bitch." He growled through the pain as he hunched over.

"You can't do that." Dr. Harold exclaimed, trying again to come to John's aid.

"Take another step and I'll have you arrested too." Cynthia Myers spoke in a high-pitched tone when she got upset.

"I need to see my kids." John exclaimed desperately.

The situation with these three adults was quickly building to a pretty dramatic climax, and they were all acting on impulses or instincts, none of them could tell you exactly how it all would have ended. As it is, they would never know.

A shrill, impossibly loud, fear-inducing alarm sounded throughout the hospital at that second, and for the briefest and most time stopping of moments, all movement ceased. Something had intervened and changed course of events in that hospital hallway.

John smiled.

* * *

Cal had been watching the proceedings taking place in the hospital hallway for a good fifteen minutes now, and was thoroughly invested in them. 

Annie was at his side and tapping her foot impatiently. "_What _are we doing?" She snapped yet again.

"I told you," Cal explained in a hushed tone. "I wanna make sure Sam's alright."

"You saw him in his brother's room." Annie reminded. "He's fine. More than fine. He looked pretty damn happy to me." There was a touch of affection in her tone that Cal loved to hear.

"I know," he agreed, not turning from the scene playing out in the hallway, but reaching around and grabbing the redhead's hand and squeezing it in his own affectionately. "But that won't mean anything if they arrest his dad."

"And you're so sure that's his dad?" Annie argued - because that was her default setting.

"Unless you think there's another Mr. Winchester wandering around the hospital with two kids named Sam and Dean."

Annie used her free hand to slap his back lightly. "So, it's his dad." She waved that hand out, gesturing to large man and the rigid woman to whom he was speaking. "She's questioning him because she thinks he's _abusing_ Sam. What if she's right?"

"She's not." Cal said distractedly.

"How do you know?" Her tone was pleading, and Cal finally turned around and faced her, placing both hands on her shoulders and making eye contact.

"We spent hours with the kid. Do you really think he seemed like he'd been abused?" Annie still looked doubtful, eyes downcast and darting behind Cal. "I mean, c'mon, after some initial hesitating - a good sign, by the way, means someone taught him to be cautious - he ended up trusting us. He didn't act scared or timid. Hell, that's the most confident little kid I ever met."

Annie's big green eyes met his and Cal knew he'd gotten through to her. "You know we came here to save the lab animals, right? Not Sam." But there was affection in her voice, a side of her that no one else got to see.

"Well, who says we can't do both?"

She smiled widely and their gazes remained locked, it came very close to becoming a _moment _between the two; until Annie's eyes happened to slant again behind him.

"Ah..." She sounded nervous and Cal turned at once. "Guess he's not as convincing as you."

In the hospital lobby Sam's father was in the process of being arrested by a bleary looking cop while the stuck-up woman stood back and supervised, a doctor was trying to step in and defend him, but didn't seem to be making much progress.

"Shit." Annie said calmly but with seriousness. "Now what?"

"Ah...crap." Cal looked around desperately as if the answer would pop out before him. Which it did. "There!" Annie followed his finger to the glass fire extinguisher case imbedded in the wall a few feet away.

Running to it, Annie read the label on the wall aloud. "Caution. Breaking glass will sound alarm."

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, silently agreeing on their course of action. Then Cal was pulling off his long, black jacket, balling it up around his fist and slamming it through the glass.

"Whoa!" They shouted in unison almost at once.

"That's one hell of an alarm!" Annie shouted over the noise, pressing her palms over her ears. Cal quickly shook the glass out his jacket and was shrugging it back on as they ran back down the hallway.

They made it there just in time to see doctors pouring out of rooms, secretaries escaping from behind desks in confused flocks; and all the security guards started running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

Sam's father used the situation to his advantage like Cal had hoped he would, getting away from the police officer with an impressive move and dashing in the direction of Dean's room.

The police officer, though, started running after him at once and Cal felt suddenly very stupid. Well, duh. Commotion or not the cop wasn't going to just let him bolt.

"Help!" Annie screeched next to him, and Cal ducked away instinctively, shooting her a bemused look. Until he saw that the police officer had paused in his pursuit.

"Help!" She cried again, gesturing to him, screwing her face up in a mask of distress. "There's a fire on the fourth floor. The outlet in my mom's room sparked and...and..."

Every official looking person headed immediately in her direction, then past her as she pointed toward the stairs. The cop, after a momentary pause and a longing glance in the direction Sam's dad - who was out of sight by now - had gone, led the heard. Security guards followed, all on walkie-talkies, speaking in numbered codes. Some doctors trailed behind as well. Others scattered into various rooms.

In an amazingly quick amount of time, they had manipulated the situation, and no one had even noticed that Annie hadn't followed behind them. "Wow." Cal half-shouted, alarm still going off in the back ground, "That was impressive."

Annie gave a fake bow. "Thank you." Her smile fell and her expression morphed into one slightly more serious. "We should get to Kenny and Dee-Dee before they get spooked and bolt."

"Yeah." Cal agreed, and right before they took off for good, Annie caught his arm and squeezed gently, smiling widely.

"Hey. You did good."

Cal grinned back. "Yeah." He repeated. "We did."

TBC...

* * *

A/N: This thing is lasting so much longer than I thought it would. See, I know what I wanna happen, and in my head, I can fit it all in one chapter, then I start typing, and it's like seven pages later and I'm only half-way there. Now, I'm pretty sure there's only one chapter left. Then possibly an epilogue depending on how that goes. But anyway, what'd you think of this one? 


	8. Chapter 8

People Are Strange

Chapter Eight

Dean Winchester woke up slowly, having been knocked out by painkillers for the last several hours. He became aware of his surroundings in bits and bursts of knowledge. First off, he hurt. He hurt like he'd been attacked by... A spirit. Because he had.

Recalling the events of the past night, he became quickly scared. His father had disappeared some time ago to find Sam. His little brother had been missing since-

Then something next to him shifted and he realized there was a warm presence cuddled into his right side.

"Sammy?" He guessed automatically.

The little boy shifted again, groaned slightly then slowly opened his eyes.

"Hey, Dean." His voice was scratchy, making him sound older, more worn than he should have.

Dean shifted as much as he could without hurting himself, and positioned it so he could look at Sam directly. He thought about acting stern, but knew he wouldn't be able to muster the energy. So overwhelming relief won out and he spoke gently.

"Little brother," he greeted fondly. "Where ya been?"

Sam seemed to consider it for a moment before shrugging half-heartedly and yawning loudly. He snuggled more securely into Dean's side and the older boy could do little other than run a hand through his hair instinctively.

"What was that?" Dean inquired when Sam mumbled something against the fabric of his hospital issue shirt thing.

"Where's daddy?" Sam pulled away just enough to get the words out before snuggling again.

Dean's heart clenched painfully then. Sam must have been through a great deal tonight, because he couldn't recall the last time Sam had referred to their father as 'daddy.' Also, while the brothers were known to share a bed from time to time, Sam hadn't acted this clingy since the last time he'd had a really bad nightmare.

"I don't know." Dean admitted. "He went looking for you a while ago."

"Oh." Sam said, then, as if it would explain away the whole entire night, "The doctor

wouldn't let me see you."

"I know." Dean sighed, still petting the boy's hair. "He told us everything that happened before you ran away."

"I was just trying to find you." He sounded close to tears.

"I know." The older brother repeated, soothing automatically. "It's okay." And it was. As long as Sam was with him now, it was more than okay.

Dean was trying to decide what to do next; whether he should push and find out where his brother had been all this time, if he should use the little call button by his bed and ask a nurse to go find their dad, or if he should give into the heaviness of his eyelids and the serenity of having his little brother back at his side and just go back to sleep.

All seemed appealing in one way or another, but sleeping seemed most likely to win out, as he could already feel it consuming him.

Then with a shrill suddenness, an alarm started to sound. Loudly.

Sam jumped, "What's that?!" He all but shrieked, now upright and staring at Dean frightfully.

The elder brother shook his head. He wasn't sure, but he had a pretty good idea what it would lead to. He hopped out of bed and ruffled around the drawers of the small cabinet next to his bed. He couldn't find the clothes he had been wearing when he was brought in, but did discover a pair of gray sweatpants.

Tugging those on, he raced back to where Sam now stood on the other side of the bed, bare feet slapping against the cold hospital floor as he went. "C'mon!" He gestured to his brother and clamped Sam's hand in his, pulling him along.

"Where are we going?" Sam shouted, but followed him easily nonetheless.

"Wanna see what's going on." Dean explained making it to the door and pushing it open slowly. As soon as he did, the noise from the alarm got louder still, he wanted to stick his fingers in his ears, but was unwilling to let go of Sam's hand.

People were running up and down the length of the hallway, flying by their room, creating a scene of utter chaos.

"Where's dad?!" Sam desperately wanted to know.

"He's coming." Dean hollered back, and prayed he wasn't lying.

"What's going on?" Sam was beginning to panic, gripping Dena's hand tighter when a woman in an all white outfit ran by so fast they could feel a rush of wind from the flapping tail of her uniform.

"I don't know. But dad'll be here soon." Dean believed that; and forced himself not to think about all the things that might make John incapable of coming to find his sons.

"Dean!" Sam whined again, sounding like the scared little boy he was. "Dean! Where's dad?"

"I-" The older boy was at an absolute loss. He couldn't do this. Looking after Sammy in their apartment, even protecting him from the supernatural, that he could manage. But a hospital had rules and consequences, there were people here that didn't fit into their world and Dean had no idea how to deal with them.

Before he cold weigh his options anymore critically, the door burst open, causing both brothers to jump back in freight, the younger of the two letting out a startled cry as well.

"Sammy! Dean!" John Winchester had made it back to his sons, just as he promised he would.

"Dad!" Sam leapt into the eldest hunter's embrace, their dad easily lifting all his weight with one arm, while simultaneously bending down and wrapping the other one around Dean, who didn't protest one bit.

"Alright, boys," their father switched easily into self-preservation mode. "We have to get out of here, now."

Dean nodded agreeably, but Sam, who was back at his brother's side while John poked his head out of the door like his son had done just moments before, objected. "Dad, what's going on?"

"We have to get out of here." He repeated, like that was the answer he was looking for.

"But, isn't Dean hurt?" Sam looked confusedly at his brother.

"I'm fine, Sammy." Dean assured. "Just do what dad says."

John cleared his throat after watching the exchange, eyes clouded for a moment when he saw that Sam was doing as he asked. "Right." He broke through the trance rather easily. "Now, we have to get to the Impala. Just follow me and act casual. Dean." The elder boy looked up. "Do you have normal clothes?"

"None that I could find." He answered, slightly put off at disappointing him.

"Alright, that's fine, then." He opened the door completely, wasting no time and barely masking his frantic efforts to get them away from this place. "Let's get going."

* * *

Dad was speeding. Dean knew more about cars than most kids; could change a tire, put gas in the Impala or even drive her if he absolutely had to, and he knew the speed dad was going right now was way over the speed limit. 

"Are we going back to the motel?" He inquired, holding on tight to Sam as they whizzed around a particularly sharp curve. Both brothers were curled up in the spacious back seat of their family's classic Impala.

"No." Their dad answered briskly.

"What about all our stuff?" Too much had been left out of his control tonight, he needed to take some of it back, some way.

"The weapons are in the trunk. So are some of our clothes. The rest of it we can get replaced."

And Dean didn't argue, didn't want to argue. He just wanted to know what was going on. "Where are we going?"

"Caleb's." The older man answered again with all the gentleness of a stranger off the street, and Dean recoiled slightly. That was all he wanted to know, anyway.

"Dean," he heard his little brother mumble and was quick to respond.

"Yeah, kiddo?" He was well aware that the young child was more than half-asleep, and he blamed that, and his obviously exhausting night - and early morning - for the reason behind his next mumbled words.

"I wanna pet monkey."

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

After recouping at Caleb's place for a while - restocking their supplies and working some kinks out of his beloved car - John decided it was time to hit the road again.

And while he wouldn't be taking Sam - or Dean, by extension, given that the two had been more fused together than normal since the incident at the hospital - on any hunts anytime soon, he would be sure to enroll them in a school as soon as they got settled.

He knew, as long as he stayed out of the Newbury district, where he was sure that insipid social worker was keeping an eye out for him, there was virtually no danger of him being recognized. Still, he planned on keeping his sons out of any hospitals for the next eight years, at least.

"Hey, Dean," He greeted his eldest son late one afternoon, taking a seat next to him on the picnic table in Caleb's backyard.

"Hey, dad." The eleven-year-old said casually, and if he was still annoyed or angry about how distant John had been in the past week or so, it didn't show.

"How you doin'?" He inquired lightly, picking at the splintering wood of the table.

"Good." He saw Dean shrug. "Caleb took me and Sam fishing at that stream."

"Yeah, he mentioned that." John admitted, then looked around, a little confused, "Where's your brother?"

"Inside bugging Marilee about what we're gonna have for dinner." He said nonchalantly.

Marilee was the girlfriend Caleb currently had living with him. The young woman had taken quite quickly to her sons, and them to her - even Dean's natural defenses around woman authority figures seemed to recede slightly as he saw how much Sam liked her.

It broke his heart a little that he would have to take them away from that so soon. But, he decided, that was a discussion for tomorrow.

"Dean?" John initiated a conversation despite being able to see how much his oldest son longed to retreat back into the house with his brother.

"Huh?" He answered distractedly.

"Did you ever figure out where Sam was that night?" Both knew to what he was referring.

Dean half-smiled and smirked John's smirk. "No. He never told me. But he decided he wants to be a vegetarian."

The eldest Winchester snorted a laugh. "So you don't think anything bad happened, right?"

"I know nothing bad happened." Dean said with almost frightening amounts of certainty.

"It's strange though, isn't it? That Sam won't tell us?" John spoke, not realizing that he was talking to Dean almost as if he were another adult, with whom he was sharing the responsibility of raising Sam with.

His little soldier took it in stride, shrugging absently, eyes locked on the one-story ranch house a few yards away. "Well, people can be strange," he shrugged again. "Sam's no exception."

"I guess." John decided, and when he said nothing more, Dean took that as his cue that the conversation was over.

"I'll see you inside."

John waited a long time before removing himself from that picnic table, and when he finally did, it was only to walk onto Caleb's porch and stay there. Staring at the scene playing out behind the window.

Dean was hovering behind Sam as the younger boy stood on a wooden chair, stirring something in a big pot on the stove. Marilee's blonde hair flapped around as she dished out instructions to all the males in the room, Caleb set the table, only to have his girlfriend come over and reset everything as soon as he turned around.

Laughter filtered through the small kitchen and dim light from the fading sun illuminated it warmly. John Winchester stood on the outside, looking in on a happy family, knowing in his heart that as true as this seemed, they were all just playing parts. There was no such thing as a happy family, and that be believed.

The Winchesters were jaded, broken, strange people that chased after shadows and nightmarish monsters. John knew it was his destiny to be a hunter, knew in that moment that he would die a hunter.

He prayed then, too, that his sons might find a path that would lead them out of the darkness of their family legacy. He didn't doubt that it was a possibility for them. If there was one thing he'd learned from raising his two sons on his own for the last seven years it was that people can - and almost always do - surprise you.

The End


End file.
